Room Service
Nemesis detention block, 24 ABY or 42 ISY. The detention blocks of Star Destroyers of any class reflect the same design - varying only in capacity and duplication across the ship. Aboard the Nemesis this chamber houses a central round security desk from which every aspect of the detention block from climate control over individual cells to the ray-shields, sonic emitters and wall-mounted lasers that constitute counter-measures against jailbreaks alongside naval security officers. The cells themselves lie on either side of a long corridor behind reinforced security doors. Spartan accommodations are featureless save for a bed fashioned from poured concrete to prevent its use as a weapon and typically offered without bedding to maximize the prisoner's discomfort and demoralization. --------------- Soon, but perhaps not soon enough, an Imperial lieutenant flanked by two fully armored and armed stormtroopers call on Ambrosia's humble quarters. The scarfaced officer looks down at a datasheet after opening the cell's door, "Ambrosia Delgard, correct?" There's a pause where the officer waits for confirmation. What ever she is here for seems to be specifically for Ambrosia. It wouldn't due to have it go to the wrong prisoner! Once confirmation is had, the officer will move to enter the cell. One of the two blonde women inside lifts her head from her slouch against the bed-wall corner and levels a less than welcoming glare over the latest intruders before offering a rather cool greeting. "Oh? I was made to understand that the occupant of this cell goes by the name 'prisoner 78492'. Do forgive me for not standing." Also, there's the...leg. Or what used to pass for one. It seems now to serve simply as dead weight, from the knee down. From the knee-up, there's just simple inflammation. Ambrosia does at least pull herself from the floor and up onto the bed, beside the unconscious head of her younger companion. An empty flask lays on the floor, not far from the doorway. "Has His great benevolence seen it fit yet to permit this newly pardoned 'citizen' a bath?" "In time." Sivytra responds crisply as she moves into the cell. The stormtroopers follow her in, posting themselves on either side of the door. Following the stormtroopers, a steward enters with several plates on a tray. Keying the wall, a small table extends from the wall by the bed. The steward makes quick work of depositing a rather grand meal, by prisoner standards, and drink before ducking out of the cell as fast as decorum permitted around an officer. "Please eat. There's enough for your companion and you." A core-world accent becomes more obvious the more Sivytra speaks. "How old is your wound?" Sivytra moves to inspect it closer, anlging her body so that her body is between the two women and Sivytra's holstered E-11 blaster. There's concern on the woman's face as she angles her head to try and get a better look at the leg. "As old as my imprisonment." Ambrosia stiffens as Sivytra draws near, but is wise enough to keep her hands to herself. This time. "Lt. Kovani did a fine enough job bringing me back from the dead, but I suppose they'd like to keep a bit of insurance that I'm not going to break out anytime soon," she mutters, gesturing to her right knee. Sighing, she looks despondently to the feast laid before her. "Is your mess hall intentionally wasteful, or am I to be the butt of another joke?" Bruised and swollen hands gingerly lift what's left of her shirt to reveal a rather sunken stomach and a few ribs. Some scars there, too, old and new. Odds are, if she /does/ ingest the source of such delicious aroma, it's not going to end well. Beside her, Lt. Kovani groans in her sleep, lashes fluttering as she twists in her medic uniform and comes to rest dangerously close to the edge. "If you'd prefer, I can have you fed intravenously." Sivytra comments as she continues to study Abrosia's situation. "This isn't the best food, but it's food you should be able to keep down if you don't binge on it." Sivytra's eyes return to Ambrosia's eyes, "Little bites with lots of fluid. Oh." A smirk crosses Sivytra's lips, "The water will taste weird, most likely. It has added nutrients and vitamins- you aren't being poisoned, so don't act it. Please, at least have the fluids." Sivytra returns her attention to Ambrosia's leg and the sleeping Kovani, "Has your friend woken lately? Any sweats?" Sivytra takes a chance by leaning forward, trying to inspect Kovani. If observant, Ambrosia would note that Sivytra's right hand moved to rest on her blaster as she did so. "No more needles, thank you, and she's fine." Ambrosia stands, albeit wobbly, and leans just a touch protectively over the more petite image of herself. "Wouldn't stop crying and babbling incoherently after the recent events, but nothing a little whiskey couldn't cure. Expensive year, that," she nods towards the flask, before looking to a couple teeth marks on her fingers. "Turns out she's a biter, just like her mother. Wouldn't get too close. She's going to be a real handful when she wakes up." A wry smile contorts away the frown on the ambassador's lips and she slumps back onto the bench. One hand goes to inspect the food. Sivytra keeps looking over Kovani, "I came prepared for that." She nodded back toward the two stormtroopers. She then stands upright, looking over the two miserable wrecks in front of her. She shakes her head, reaching for the comlink on her belt. "VK-2334, please join us with your kit VK-233418." "VK-233418 responding." A quick response, at that! "I have one of my medics on his way to check you and your friend. Please do not hastle him and let him do his job, unless you desire to lose your leg." Sivytra carefully avoided mentioning that it might be a lost cause anyways. Amrosia sets her lips into a thin, patient line as the Lt. makes a call on her com. When she's finished, she listens with a pertly raised brow. "Unless he's equipped with spare parts, and familiar with little droid tech, he won't likely be of much use." She siezes the tattered fabric near the good knee and rips it apart. Hooray, for crappy seam work. Embedded in the flesh of this bruised but otherwise functional knee are a couple of metal nodes and a medi-port. "More mech than flesh in there, same goes for the one your buffoons broke." An acknowledging lift of her chin is cast towards the muscle at the door. "Blood flow remains unobstructed, nothing's getting lost. With all the drugs you people have been feeding me the last weeks...month...it must be hell to be a germ, in these veins." "'sides..." Sniffing, Ambro rips off a small piece of bread and puts it between her teeth while gesturing to Kovani. "She's one of yours. They didn't hurt her. Physically, I mean...I imagine the sudden arrest and blaster held to her skull was more than a little damaging to Miss Kovani's delicate naivete about the people she's so loyally served, these short nineteen years of her life." "It would make me feel more secure if he could confirm the flesh parts of your leg aren't turning septic." Sivytra gestures towards the food, "This could be a meal fit for the Emperor and it wouldn't matter if you developed a blood infection in your current state." Sivytra let that hang in the air for a moment before adding, "I can always summon medical droids with needles and other sharp things." Sivytra then looks towards Kovani again, "She must have done something worng to wind up in here with you, no?" A half-grin spreads agross her lips, "If not, we'll get her fixed up again." "I'm afraid her only crime was being put into my belly by an adulterous little moff, all those years ago," Ambrosia says with a sneer, tossing the remainder of the bread back to the plate. "Or whatever he was. To a teenage servant girl, they all looked and smelled the same. Still do." The 'madame' Ambassador takes a delicate sip of the vita-tainted water and grimaces. "Your brilliant Duke Thel matched our DNA, earlier today. How he must have smile with glee, knowing the leverage he then possessed, and used against me. It's an awkward way to meet one's offspring for the first time, but I'd rather it be in here than me holding her smoking corpse, so he won his damned 'confession'." Eyes flashing with bitter tears, she sets the cup down and sinks unsteadily to her original place on the floor. "If you want to be of genuine help," she closes her eyes and folds her hands over her belly, "encourage the Intelligence officers to run the paternity scan, if they haven't already, and send the miserable little monster my way. He should be getting on in years, by now. Don't think he'll miss his two little friends all that much, when I rip them out." And that, ladies and gentlemen, is the good Ambassador Delgard. Mother of TWO, and widow of one.